Part 1

Straight girl bitch. The kind who thinks she’s clever, but all she knows how to do is play with fire. She was in my college group — technically a grown woman, but with the spoiled attitude of a whiny teenager. She had a tough personality, was mouthy, sarcastic, and the worst part: she loved to tease.

I never really knew what her deal was. Nobody had ever seen her hooking up with a woman, at least not according to the hallway gossip. But she was always stirring up the girls. With most of them — straight girls, almost always — it was just an innocent little thing, a quick peck on the lips, a fake squeeze of some distracted girl’s tit… and that was it. Over.

But with me it was different. With me, that little slut made a point of crossing every line. She’d plop down on my lap without warning, sliding slow until her ass fit just right, tossing her hair to the side and pretending it was all a joke. She’d press her face into my neck and let out that hot breath, that sweet exhale that gave me goosebumps all over. She’d hug me from behind, tight, pressing her tits against my back, like it was some affectionate gesture. But it was all calculated. She knew. She knew the effect she had on me.

And when I’d try to close in, when I’d pull her aside and ask her straight up: “What’s your game?”, the sneaky bitch would bolt. She’d laugh, crack a joke, leave me talking to myself. A sly little vixen, charming and dangerous. A presence that messes everything up, slips into your life like she wants nothing… and before you know it, you’re dreaming about the taste of her mouth.

Of course I was crazy about her. Obsessed. Every time I rubbed one out, her name was right there between my thighs. She knew. She knew damn well the power she had over me. She played with it. Teased on purpose, with that crooked little smile and that cocky attitude that drove me wild.

But that night I was different. Pumped up. Possessed. There was gonna be a hangout at my place and I’d already decided: tonight she wasn’t getting away. If she thought she could toy with me, then she’d find out how good it feels to push my buttons. I was gonna grab her by the arm, drag her to my room, and make it clear: tonight you don’t run. And if I had to get dirty… I’d play rough. Get her drunk, leave her loose, surrendered. But she was gonna give me that kiss she’d been owing me. Even if it was just one. But it was gonna be mine.

The girls started showing up with bags, snacks, soda, some hidden bottles of booze. The bolder ones split some last-minute pizzas. And her, of course, she showed up like it was no big deal — gorgeous, with that walk that screamed tease — and brought two bottles of good red wine. I knew, it was her favorite drink.

“I brought it to drink with you,” she said, finding me in the hallway. Eyes sparkling, mischievous smile.

“And why don’t we drink it in my bed, hot stuff?” I shot back straight, in my usual style. I’m crude like that, I don’t do the good girl act.

She laughed, but tried to back off.

“I don’t like girls, I told you.”

I stepped closer. The hallway seemed to narrow with every step, the air thicker, heavier, like time was holding its breath too. Our bodies almost touching, her standing there, beautiful, with that look that always undid me. I tilted my head, firm, keeping my eyes on hers.

“I don’t need you to like it,” I whispered, voice low, loaded. “It doesn’t make a difference to me.”

Lie. It made all the difference. But I had to pretend I still had control, even though I’d lost it ages ago.

She didn’t answer. Just looked at me, even closer,